Love On A Small Island
by nevertheend
Summary: The Pacific War is over, and with nothing and no-one left back home in Louisiana for him to return to, Snafu Shelton struggles to find his place in the world now that he is no longer needed as a marine. Alone and unable to adjust to normal life, Snaf sees no option other than to sign on again the next year, until he is thrown a life line by sweet and kind Rosa, a young girl he mee
1. Chapter 1

_**Rosa**_ **.**  
~~~~

I was nearly eighteen when the US army came marching through our village.

The marines too.

The war was over, and I was glad, but the aftermath of it on our people was too devastating for us to feel like celebrating its culmination. The military were met with a grim greeting on their arrival on our land.

I remember I was knelt precariously with Janet on the highest window ledge of our house, shading my eyes from the beating sun as we watched the long line of uniformed men, which stretched from the port to the town centre, as they trudged through the village. The khaki green procession seemed to warp and slither like a snake through the shimmering heat June provided.

As I looked out into the street around me, it seemed the whole island was watching silently from their attic windows, or from rickety balconies, or half hidden behind wooden front doors that peeled paint.

I lived on a small Pacific island off the coast of California, largely populated by British Americans. The military troops took a pit-stop here, after having travelled by boat for days, before making their way to the port at San Francisco to catch the train home. Some of them stayed for a couple days, some a month. We were to put them up for a while, show them hospitality.

My family owned a small bed and breakfast hotel, one of the more successful businesses on our poor island. We realised we'd have to put up any of the soldiers who needed them with bed, bath and breakfast for the next few weeks. Honestly, the thought kind of scared me.

I didn't have a clue what you were supposed to say to a guy who'd just come back from risking his life to protect your country, and who'd seen such atrocities he'd probably been scarred for life. Were you supposed to thank them? Ask questions? Make small talk?

No one knew, and it was for this reason that that very same afternoon, Janet and I found ourselves on the receiving ends of the anger and the bitterness of two very mixed up marines.

I remember, they'd caught my eye from the window ledge.

Janet stood behind me, hands on the sill where I perched in front of her, dangerously close to the edge. It was not a pose that I supposed my step mother would deem to be very lady like - but then, I was not a person she deemed to be very lady like either, so it didn't really matter.

We watched the marines trudge single file into the village, and I looked with curiosity at every one of their faces. Two in particular caught my eye.

They weren't standing in a single file line like the rest of them, or at least, one of them wasn't. Beside a tall, lean man with a pleasant face and a shirt buttoned down so far it was open to his belly button, there walked a shorter man, with his green helmet skewed on his head at a jaunty angle, and an unlit cigarette peaking out from between his lips.

He walked with all the confidence and cockiness in the world, carelessly straying from the line and staring brazenly all around him while his comrades faced to the front. Maybe they were all too depressed and too traumatised from what they'd witnessed to talk to each other, but this man didn't seem like he'd been fazed at all as he chattered away to his comrade whilst lighting up his cigarette.

The taller man, however, seemed ill at ease. His jaw was clenched tightly and his forehead wrinkled into a dark frown. He glanced around too, seemingly uncomfortable with the stares he was receiving from the villagers, and eventually his eyes wandered upwards to fall on us. I felt Janet shift uneasily behind me.

The soldier looked angry, and, almost by way of appeasing him, I slowly lifted my right hand to my temple to salute him.

The man's shorter friend followed his gaze and squinted up to where we were hiding, and our eyes met with a jolt.

My blood ran cold.

His eyes were the most intense things I had ever seen, and though he didn't look angry, his expression terrified me. It seemed ever so slightly... inhuman.

I lowered my hand, shakily, but I couldn't bring myself to lower my gaze. My eyes followed him to the end of the street until he disappeared out of sight, and his cold ones did the same.

 _ **Merriell**_ **.**  
~~~~

This town gave me the heebiejeebies.

It's rickety, run down houses leaned on each other for support, and the peeling doors, once painted with bright, seaside colours, were hanging off their hinges. The buildings themselves seemed curiously narrow to be houses, as if they themselves had been starved, like its gaunt inhabitants.

Seemed like we weren't the only ones the war took its toll on.

I was sufficiently creeped out by the way the townspeople would hide and crouch and stare as we walked by. Like specters. Once you got your eye in you could see they were everywhere- a thousand watching eyes tucked away in nooks and crannies of the dilapidated housing. Living representatives of pure poverty.

I could relate to that.

I lit a cigarette to help calm my jitters. I wanted to appear confident so I wouldn't freak Sledge out. He was looking at something up real high with a concentrated frown on his face, so I followed his eyes.

Sitting on a ledge on top of some ramshackle blue beach house was a girl, crouched barefoot in a pale blue dress, which rode up so that I could see the brown of her legs. Her hair was real dark, flowing long and loose and messy down her honey-brown arms. Her hand was raised in an uncertain salute.

I knew that would anger Sledge, who had been very vocal about his disdain for those who tried to show us respect, or sympathy, and tried to understand the "tough time" that we'd gone through, like the girls serving us juice after Okinawa. Because it was more than a tough time, Sledge said, and they would never understand.

In support of my buddy, I stared the girl out until she dropped her arm uncomfortably. She was a pretty little thing, but it gave me a sense of satisfaction to make her uncomfortable. I enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

I noticed another girl standing clutching at the curtain behind her, hiding. She was blonde, with her hair in ringlets wearing some kind of a red gingham getup. She was bug eyed and nervous looking, and she held no interest for me, so I switched back to the other girl, the dark girl, who'd _really_ captured my attention. I expected her to lower her gaze in embarrassment when I kept staring, but she stared right back unashamedly, her eyes filled with curiosity.

I continued to think about her even after we'd reached the top of the steep and winding street, turning corners to get to the town centre so that I could no longer see her. The girls' stare seemed to be burnt into my retinas. There was something about her that I couldn't quite shake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rosa.**  
 **…...**

"Hey Rosa!" I heard coming from downstairs as I stepped out of the shower. "There's some drunk marine stumblin' round in the middle'a the square! Come see!"

I'd heard Janet crank open the shop shutters moments before, and was vaguely aware, from the sounds coming from the cracked bathroom window, that there'd been some kind of kerfuffle going on in the street outside.

I threw on my black and white gingham dress and ran downstairs, damp tendrils of hair still snaking down my back, to see what the fuss was all about. I picked up my pinafore off the bannister on passing, wrestling myself into it as I jogged through into the shop.

It was the kind of thing I normally wore for work- plain and practical. (Like Janet's personality.)

She turned and scowled at me for running. Janet no doubt thought that young women shouldn't be running, especially not while putting their pinnies on. I scowled back, before joining her at the window.

In the middle of the square stood the marine from yesterday afternoon. His hands were on his hips, and he was veering from side to side on unsteady legs, looking bemused. He was clearly drunk, and I watched him stagger around in amusement, muttering to himself with a cigarette in his mouth, in some kid of alcohol induced reverie.

In the background was his tall friend, struggling to get up the hill on his gangly legs. He was cursing and shouting for his friend to wait.

His friend seemed to be paying no attention at all.

These marines, who'd terrified us when we'd first seen them, where now looking completely adorable as they stumbled around, dazed, one more so than the other. We giggled.

Mistake.

The man outside looked around immediately for the source of the noise. His eyes met mine.

 **Merriell.**  
 **…...**

I was so used to my every darned movement being strictly regimented that I found it difficult to know what to do with my free time, once we were given it. It was always that way with breaks from the war.

Even before I joined up, I'd worked in one of those Civilian Conservation Corps back home, and my routine was military. I hadn't really been free in years.

We were given the brief that we were here for respite, a short stop until the train arrived at San Francisco to take us home, for which we'd have to get a boat back to the mainland. To be honest, I wasn't entirely sure I would go home, when the time came. I didn't know where I'd go. I didn't have anybody to go _to._

I mused on this as I sloshed my whisky round the glass in the old sea side tavern that some of the guys had hauled ass to the second we were left to our own devices. I knew most of them would be headed to some kind of bar or tavern, or probably even go to a brothel, if they had one here. It'd been so long since any of us had gotten seen to by a girl, or even gotten that drunk as a matter of fact, that most felt a good time to be needed.

Some, though, drank for different reasons, which I knew all about. Numbing the pain of their injuries for example. Drinking helped you not to feel. Or, some drank because they just wanted to feel _something_. And some just drank because they didn't know what the fuck else they were supposed to do.

We drank until morning.

The spring sun had risen by the time we stumbled out into the dirt road, Sledge and me, still in our uniforms, the first thing on our agenda being to find a place to stay.

I'd sat on my own in the corner of the dingy tavern. Sledge sat on the adjacent table with some buddies, and they'd laughed and hollered and recited some goddamn poetry quotations or something, all night, having the time of their lives.

I'd sat and smoked and drowned my sorrows with a poker face on, making sure never to let on to anybody how empty I felt inside.

I thought about how I'd probably sign on again the next year. Because there was no use going home to a town where nobody would welcome me, not really. A hometown where I'd never really had a home.

I thought about how Sledge would get to return straight home to his parents, probably find some southern belle to shack up with in less than five minutes, who'd cook for him and care for him and probably recite damn Bible verses with him forever.

He'd make a good career for himself no doubt. And a good, big family. Because he was a decent guy, and good looking. And kind. And I knew he'd get past the war fairly quickly, because he had a good home to go back to, and he hadn't had all of his humanity taken from him by a life of harshness.

Not like me.

We stumbled past the port and docks, Sledge still tight as anything, me only tipsy, and up a little cobbled back street until we came out into a small square with a few run down stores in it that I recognised from earlier that day. I recognised the blue house from before too, the one with the girl in the window, and I glanced up to the roof to check if she was there now.

She wasn't, of course.

I meandered about the square absent-mindedly, waiting for Sledge to catch up to me, and watched the sleepy town slowly easing into life.

A man in a vest and underwear washing himself in a bucket in the street. An old, weatherbeaten woman with a brightly coloured scarf around her head threaded a clothes line out of her window, and over the narrow gap between her house and the one across from her. The creaking shutters of old, run-down stores began to judder open. It must've been about seven o'clock.

A few of the villagers watched me stumbling around the square while they did their morning ablutions, with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. It didn't bother me much. It was such a small island that I was willing to bet they didn't have strangers passing through half the time, especially not some crazy marines who'd seen more bloodshed in a year than they would in their lives. They probably feared us.

My drunk and befuddled brain was forgiving this morning, and these sheltered, grim people unknowingly endeared me towards them with their ignorance.

But not Sledge, I was willing to bet.

I heard the distant sounds of his drunken approach as he staggered up the narrow, cobbled little hill of a street, cussing and blinding like a true marine as he tried to get his balance. It amused me, but I didn't turn around to watch and make sport of his troubled ascent as at that moment, I noticed two familiar figures in the newly opened shop window in front of me.

… **...**

The shutters creaked open to reveal the word "café" in big letters on a painted wooden sign, and "coffee 50¢, homemade lemonade, 20¢, coca cola, 5¢," on a blackboard in the doorway.

The blonde broad with the bug eyes that I'd seen yesterday was standing in the shop window watching me nervously, and behind her, peeking over her shoulder in cute waitress attire, stood the girl with the honey skin that I'd remembered so well.

There it was again- that stare that was shy and guarded, yet somehow curious at the same time, hiding nothing. It had stayed with me.

Sledge was now throwing up a little in the alleyway behind me, but I can hardly say I noticed because I was so busy looking at her. I scared her so.

It didn't take me long to decided to bring drunken Sledge inside the shop, and watch his rage ensue as the girls no doubt tried to appease him by serving him their damn juice- with no idea, of course, that their fake hospitality would only anger him further.

And who knew? Maybe I'd even have a little fun of my own. As I unabashedly raked my eyes over the little brunette's figure, I thought about how much I'd love to make this one squirm.

"Look, sledgehamma'." I drawled slowly as Sledge appeared behind me, a smug smirk creeping across my face. My eyes never left hers.  
"Lemonade. Ya favourite."


	3. Chapter 3

She smiled at me uncertainly when I walked in. The blonde looked at us with poorly disguised unease as we mooched around their little store, scanning the shelves aimlessly, before I finally walked up to the counter. The pretty girl hovered in the back, watching us with the same guarded curiosity of the gaunt orphans I'd seen earlier. Blondie went behind the counter to serve me.

"What can I get you boys?" She'd asked, and I ordered breakfast, with juice and coffee. Figured I could pay for Sledge and me, since we had our pay slips now, and this was one of the rare times I'd been able to afford something like that.

We took a seat outside and the girls hurried with our coffee, anxious to appease us (or maybe just me).

The dark haired girl came out set the coffee pot down and the pitcher of milk and then first put a cup down for Sledge, who had his head in his hands at this point, and then me. Gene didn't even look up to acknowledge the service, so I yanked his head up for him, tugging on his hair harshly, pulling him up. His eyes shot open in surprise, and he let out a confused "Wha-?", making the girl stifle a smile.

"Say thank you to the nice lady, Sledge."

She giggled a little.

Gene muttered a "thanks" darkly, rubbing his sore crown as he watched her walk away. He sure was acting sour.

It wasn't like him, to behave this way, especially not in front of the ladies. But he was real tight, and I'd learnt from the Marines that Drunk Gene went through a five phase cycle:

He was currently on phase four- the miserable bastard phase.

Before that would come the silly phase (giggling, grinning, beating his gums to everyone who'd listen and getting _extremely_ over-affectionate with his buddies which I positively _hated_ ) which would never last long, and then came denial phase, in which he would straight up deny that he'd even gotten tipsy. Third was the scholarly phase, in which he would contemplate the meaning of life in his slow, southern 'Bama drawl, no doubt thinking to himself that he sounded like a bona fide philosopher, when in actual fact, he was just talking complete bullshit.

Next there was the miserable bastard phase, and after that came the tired phase. This more often than not ended in Gene passing out, but occasionally the cycle would just repeat itself until somebody punched the guy.

The miserable bastard phase featured Gene getting cold, hungry, irritable, and just being a downright jerk. I thought maybe the food we were about to be served might placate him, stop him from mouthing off to these young girls. At the same time, I kind of hoped he did it.

I didn't really care if I freaked them out. I kind of wanted them to feel weird. To burst their little domestic bubble. To make them feel weird like I felt weird.

The girl finally came with our food. Eggs, sunny side up. Pancakes, toast, hash, tomatoes, bacon, maple syrup. Even some tinned peach halves, still in the juice. It looked like they'd really pulled out all the stops for us, especially with the food shortages that had been going on all across The States.

 _Touching,_ I thought with little smirk.

She set the big tray down on the table next to ours, and it took her a while to bring all the plates and the knives and the forks and the little bits and pieces over, so I took the opportunity to get a proper look at her.

Her long hair was almost to her hips, falling straight and dark down her back, like a Jap woman. Other girls tended to wear their hair short, or pinned up in those controlled curls that were the trend these days, but hers just streamed down in a soft mess, like a pretty little savage.

Her skin was deliciously brown. Sun-drenched. Not the layer-thin, peel-off freckle kind of a tan, not like the blonde-haired, blue-eyed apple pie girls got in the summer, but it wasn't the hard brown either, not like the weather-beaten, poor old women I'd seen crouched in doorways the day before. It was a natural brown, as though maybe she was part Mexican. Or maybe even Creole.

"Sir?"

Her voice ripped me out of my thoughts. She'd been asking me a question.

I looked up at her face.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Dark eyes, soft, full lips.

 _There are plenty of things you can get me._

"Mustard? Relish?"

"S'your momma a Nip?"

"What?"

I'd asked the question with a smirk on my face, not really caring if she answered or not. She'd looked back at me uncertainly, not understanding what I meant. I was more than happy to fill her in.

"Only, y'look like one of those Okinawan girls. Right Sledgehammer?"

He barely grunted in response. I went on.

"They used to walk round y'know, naked as the day they was born. Sometimes in those little grass skirts."

I watched her getting more and more uneasy as I spoke. Relished every second of it.

"Even let you fuck 'em."

She looked horrified. I didn't stop.

"Yeeah. They liked it. Guess they wanted a good lastin' memory. Y'know... 'fore they went n' strapped bombs to their bellies n' blown themselves up."

Her knuckles were white now, her grip tight on the ketchup bottle she was holding. I spoke slowly, letting the words drag on my tongue, savouring every second I was making her uncomfortable.

"We was happy to oblige."

That was enough.

The girl slammed the ketchup bottle down hard on the table, turned on her heels and ran back inside the café.

I chuckled to myself, and started on my bacon.  
 **…...**

 ** **Rosa.****

 **…...**

The café made most of its business from the boarders, who would eat breakfast here every day during their stay, and sometimes lunch. There were a couple of tables and chairs inside the café, but the majority were outside, made of rickety silver metal, and stayed outside all year round underneath sun umbrellas. Guests usually preferred to eat outside, because the weather was so good here.

The store also sold convenience items, like hygiene products and canned goods, and we even had a refrigerated section selling chilled meats and cheeses, making us a deli of sorts. We'd buy our produce wholesale from the farmer, who had a deal on with my dad.

Financially, we did okay compared to most on the island thanks to the family business. That wasn't to say that the work wasn't hard, however. With a father who was drafted out four years ago, and a perpetually absent step-mother, it sometimes felt as if I had to do just about everything around this place.

Nevertheless, I'd pushed Janet behind the till that morning when the pair of drunken marines had wandered in. I didn't want it to have to be me that served them, especially after those piercing blue eyes had traveled so shamelessly over my body, leaving my cheeks hot and stinging with the embarrassment.

I hovered nervously behind the counter as the man sidled into the store, turning his head to fix his wide eyes on us, smirking and giving us an almost imperceptible nod in greeting. I smiled weekly in acknowledgement, not wanting to be rude. His smile widened, and Janet visibly shuddered.

The gangly red-head entered next, stumbling slightly in taking the small step up to doorway.

"What can I get you boys?" Janet asked uncertainly.

"Can we get some breakfast out here?" He said in a slow, Louisiana drawl that made me shiver a little.

"Oh, and uh," he started, gesturing to his friend, who was having a hard time keeping his head up, "Some coffee. Sledge here needs to sober up."

Janet nodded meekly.

"Go sit down. My sister will get it for you."

 _Fantastic_ , I thought, shooting her a begrudging glance.

I took the coffee out to them, trying to avoid the unnerving stares I was receiving from the shorter of the two. 'Sledge' seemed to be near catatonic on the table, so I figured I didn't have to worry about him for the time being. When I went out the second time, I had to fight to stop my hands from shaking as I carried the tray to the table.

I couldn't rationalise what it was about him that made me feel so intimidated. He wasn't a big guy. I wouldn't exactly have called him handsome either. He was probably five nine, maybe ten at the tallest, and wiry, with a jutting chin and scrubby curls that stuck out everywhere. It didn't sound that intimidating. But it was his eyes that scared me. They were huge and lamp-like, icy blue and containing no warmth whatsoever, fixed on me in a manner so intense that his gaze was vaguely reminiscent of a psychopath.

If I'd found that unsettling, I hadn't been prepared for when he started to talk.

 **…...**

"What was he saying to you?" Janet wondered when I ran back inside, utterly horrified by what had happened.

"Nothing." I muttered, taking the empty tray into the back without meeting her eye.

It wasn't nothing.

I wouldn't Janet her how the marine had taunted me, telling me I looked like a Jap. My appearance had always been a source of her scorn, and I knew she would take the opportunity to ridicule me herself, especially if she knew the marine suspected it was my mother who had made me this way.

Janet detested my mother, although she'd rather me not know it - almost as if it was _her_ fault that my dad hadn't met Magda first, her fault dad wasn't Janet's real father.

I tidied in the back for a while, not wanting to go through to sit with her while I waited for the men to finish. After around fifteen minutes, I steeled myself, glancing at her before going back outside to collect the empty plates.

"Hope up guys enjoyed it." I muttered as I cleared the table, nervous to meet either of them's eyes.

"Yeeahh." The creep replied slowly, and I could hear the shit-eating grin in his voice even though I wasn't looking at him. "Yeah real nice. Huh Sledge?"

Sledge grumbled an inaudible reply. The darker skinned man piped up again.

"So how much I owe ya?"

I blinked up at him in surprise, arms full of porcelain. Did he really think I was going to make him pay for his first meal of liberty?

"Why, nothing!" I said incredulously. "It's on the house for you two marines, of course."

I started back inside, unaware of my fatal mistake. It was the sound of a fist banging down on the table behind me caused me to stop and turn in the doorway.

I turned.

Sledge was glaring at me with an alarming intensity that I hadn't expected from a man so pleasant of face, and clumsy in movement. His fist was still clenched on the gingham tablecloth.

Finally, Sledge spoke.

"Do not patronise me woman."

His voice was Southern and drawling, but a different kind of Southern than the kind I'd heard the blue-eyed boy speak. It was pleasant, more lilting. Even when his words were spoken with anger. He said it quietly, but it sounded nonetheless menacing. I swallowed.

"I'm sorry," I started, worried I'd somehow offended him without knowing it, "I didn't m-"

"You think I need your charity?"

"Wha- no! I-"

"You think a free meal's gonna make this all okay? Erase the last three years like they never happened?"

I fumbled to find my words, utterly shocked and embarrassed by his outburst.

"Because it's not!"

The next thing I knew, he was up on his feet and staggering over to where I stood in the doorway, muttering incoherently as he came and I was backing away in fear.

"I- I'm sorry, I was just-" I begged the tears forming in my eyes not to spill as I spoke. "Just doing what my dad would want."

He stopped then, and for a brief moment I thought my words had made some kind of appeal to him, but then a hand slapped around his chest and he was being pulled back by his friend, away from me.

He fought to be freed, wrestling with the shorter man and shouting "Let me go Snafu!"

 _What a queer thing to be named._ I thought. Although, it did rather suit him. He was gritting his teeth with the struggle of restraining the other marine,fingers splayed on his chest.

He seemed to be whispering to him, saying things in his slurred intonation that I couldn't quite catch, something along the lines of "Y'alright Sledge, you alright, it's alright", over and over again, reassuringly, _affectionately_ almost, and I watched in surprise. How could it be that the creep from before could be capable of whispering so tenderly.

The commotion attracted Janet, who materialised in the doorway just as Sledge was beginning to go limp in the grip of his friend. She looked at me in alarm, and I shoved her towards him, muttering that it was clear that she needed to give him a bed, let him sleep it off to save us from having to deal with him. He was well and truly shot up.

"Why me?!" Janet hissed not at all tactfully, and I rolled my eyes.

"I think he really needs to be with someone who's not gonna aggravate his Jap-hating tendencies right now." I muttered, eliciting a snort from the man holding him. I blinked at him in surprise, grinning.

Janet advanced on Sledge, and the man released him slowly. His thrashing and shouting had gradually petered out to a stop, and he wasn't fighting anymore.

"Come on." Janet said softly, doing her best to sound kind and understanding, as she held out an outstretched hand to Sledge. "I'll get you a bed."

He reached for her tentatively, all of a sudden looking remarkably like a lost little boy rather than a grown man, and followed her out of the kitchen, disappearing with her into the bowels of the house.

I was taken for a moment by the touching scene, wondering whether there might just be a chance that Sledge wasn't at all as fearsome as he seemed, but it didn't last long, for when I turned and saw the man still standing behind me, I suddenly became aware that I had perhaps drawn the short straw. I was overcome with the worrisome realisation that the two of us had been left alone. And I'd been given the task of taking him to his bed.

He was in the middle of taking his shoes off already, obviously not afraid to make himself at home, when he locked eyes with me and grinned wider than the Cheshire cat. He looked unhinged.

"Hi I'm Merriell Shelton. But you can call me Snafu."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm very sorry ma'am." Eugene Sledge said for the fourth time, making a declining gesture towards my offer of a biscuit for the sixth.

He was sitting at my kitchen table, lanky limbs practically taking up the whole room, staring into his mug of murky tea and looking deeply embarrassed about this morning's drunken performance.

The man had descended the stairs five hours after Janet had dragged him up them, and stood in the kitchen doorway sheepishly, greeting me sober for the first time. He'd apologized profusely, insisting that he would never, ever have done anything like this in sound mind and never, ever would again. Of course, I dismissed his apologies vehemently, insisting that there was nothing to be sorry for, and that it was probably better to get it all out there rather than bottling his feelings up until he inevitably exploded at some later date and ended up being carted off in a straight jacket like some guys I'd heard about.

He laughed a little when I said that.

"Well," he started, a penitent smile starting to appear across his features, "I suppose there's nothin' quite like hard liquor for truth tellin.' "

He looked down into his cup again, embarrassment renewed, and I tried for a kind smile.

I liked Eugene.

I was surprised to find that he was polite, shy and well-spoken - a far cry away from his drunk self. I learnt he was from Mobile, Alabama, that he'd served in the corps for three years, and that come September he was going to school to get himself an education.

In return, I told him that my father was still out in Austria, on clean up duty most probably, that my step mother was often incapacitated for long periods of time due to her ill health. I told him that I too had once sought to get an education, but the family business was mine to be responsible for the foreseeable future. I also told him that I hated Janet.

He took all of this in and said nothing, just smiled at me with a wisdom and understanding that transcended his twenty one years of age. He didn't ask about my mother, thank goodness. Something told me he knew better than to stray into that sort of territory.

He smoked a pipe, too, an older man's habit, and I let him smoke it in the kitchen because it was comforting - the smell reminded me of my father.

"The two of you didn't want a twin room or anything did you?" I asked Eugene, in reference to his friend, who I'd made sure to put in the room at the end of the corridor instead of anywhere near me. The thought of him sleeping in a room just metres away from me, the only partition between us being the house's thin walls, unnerved me to the core. In honesty, I'd probably have put him up on the guest floor just to be away from him, if it weren't for the fear of him interacting with the B&B renters and scaring away the only business we had.

Janet had put Eugene in my grandfather's old room, two doors away from my own.

"No ma'am, if you don't mind. Wouldn't wanna be taking up space or anything, but... Well, I've shared a muddy hole in the ground with him and his nightmares for three years. I wouldn't mind having a room of my own back if that's alright with you."

He said it lightly, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but his eyes hid something far graver.

His comment troubled me.

I thought back to when I'd gone up to check on the two of them some hours earlier, because Janet had been scared to. While Eugene slept soundly, when I'd peered in through the door Snafu had left cracked, I saw he was tossing and turning uneasily, mumbling something in his sleep and striking out with his arms and legs like he was trying to fight.

I felt a twist of pain in my gut for the boy who looked so much younger in sleep than he did in waking. It must be awful, I thought, truly awful, to finally escape from the horror of a four year war only to have it come for you at night, plaguing you in your dreams. I'd shut the door on the boy quietly, so as to save his dignity should somebody else walk by.

"I saw him sleeping." I blurted, causing Eugene to look up from his tea, interest piqued.

"Oh?"

"Yeah - well - just before I mean. I was just checking on the pair of you, y'know, making sure none of ya hadn't threw up or anything." I continued awkwardly, scratching at the back of my neck. "He was tossing some. Sleep talking too."

Eugene paused thoughtfully, taking the pipe between his teeth.

"Well." He started, appearing to select each word carefully, like you might with candy in a pick 'n' mix. "We've all brought our share of shit home from the war Rosa. 'Scuse my language. But Snafu..."

"What?" I asked when he didn't continue, needing to know what he'd been about to say. He sipped his tea reluctantly.

"His was there from the start. The man shipped up with it. Came into the marines as a fuck up, left as one, quite frankly."

Situation normal, all fucked up. I realised the significance of his nickname.

"So?" I challenged Eugene, wanting to press the man for as much detail as I could get, morbidly curious about the man upstairs. "Everyone's got problems, right? No big deal."

Eugene just shrugged and bit his pipe sagely, seemingly unwilling to divulge anymore.

"Call it want you want ma'am. All I know is, something screwed the fucker up well before the war did. That just added to it."

He paused.

"Anyhow, it's none of your business." He said with a good-natured grin from behind his pipe, as he got up and walked towards the sink with his empty cup. He glanced back at me over his shoulder as he ran it under the cold tap, still smiling. "Ain't none of mine either."

I shot a small smile back at him, and the subject was closed.

 _I should probably go check on him_ , I thought, picturing the starving body of the sleeping boy. I thought back to how pathetic he'd looked curled up in a ball on the bed, tremors racking his body and his face flushed fever bright. I felt a twinge of guilt for the way I'd treated him, the way I'd thought of him, after witnessing his vulnerability through the cracked bedroom door. Seeing him like this, it was hard to remember why I'd felt so threatened by him before.

I decided I'd be kind to him.

Lord knows he'd probably need it. Maybe he would benefit from some dinner around now.

Provided he doesn't spew it all up again.

… **...**

I'd thought Eugene had been subdued by the time Janet took him upstairs, but a great deal of shouting and carrying was still going on up on the landing. The noise traveled easily through the thin floorboards. Sledge was clearly resisting her, not wanting to be put to bed. I didn't exactly want to have to go up there myself and help her wrestle him under the sheets.

I pinched the bridge of my nose out of grief, setting Snafu, or _Merriell_ , off in a dark chuckle. I shot him a look of annoyance. There was no mirth in his laughter. And after that, I had a lot more reason to be annoyed, because I heard a sudden splatter and he was hurling his guts up all over the newly mopped kitchen floor.

"For god's sake." I drew out under my breath, sighing deeply, far too exasperated by the whole situation to even offer him any sympathy. He started laughing manically in between retches, clearly taking pleasure in my irritation. Or maybe he thought I was disgusted by the chunks of undigested food spewing from his mouth.

I said nothing to him as I left the room to go hunt for the mop in the cupboard under the stairs, wanting him to feel how near to the end of my tether I was. He just laughed even more until he made himself start spluttering and retching like a cholera victim.

It _was_ probably a little harsh of me -he was being sick after all, but I couldn't help having the ridiculous suspicion that he'd somehow done it on _purpose_ , as if on some sort of creative venture to try and add to the farce even more, if that was actually possible. From what I'd seen of the man's behaviour so far, it wouldn't even surprise me.

Still, I tried to show him a little more compassion on reentering the kitchen, putting a cautious hand on his back while he vomited, being careful to move my feet well away from the splash-zone.

It took him a long time to finish.

When he did, he straightened up a little to face me, shrugging my hand off, and fixing me with that conger eel stare, a wide grin curling it's way across his features. Like he hadn't just thrown up across my kitchen floor.

"Sorry." He muttered, his face displaying the least sorry expression I had ever seen. He looked more like the cat who got the canary. Like he relished the fact that he'd just made my day that much harder.

I sighed, raking a shaky hand through my hair.

"Look, just - just get out of the way okay. I'll clean i- no! No, not like that, now look what you're doing!" I exclaimed in anger as he ended up accidentally walking through the pile as he tried to step out of it.

"For God's sake!"

Maybe it was the fact that I was still brandishing the mop in one hand, but he backed away from the pile steadily, hands up to his defence.

"Hey I'll help you clean it!" He said, smiling innocently.

Once I realised that he was just walking the chunks into the tiles with his boots, my eyes widened in disbelieved fury.

"YOU'RE TRAMPLING SICK INTO THE TILES!" I yelled, patience finally snapped. "TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES AND SIT. THE FUCK. DOWN!"

He looked up at me slowly, eyes wide with something like reverence, and to my surprise, he took his boots off, dropped them next to the pile, and sat down at the kitchen table.

After picking the boots up gingerly with one hand and hurling them out of the back door, I came back inside and met Snafu's eyes.

"Sorry." I mumbled, a little ashamed of my rude outburst.

He was still grinning, looking more impressed than anything.

"S'alright." He said. He watched me mop up for a while.

And then: "Who taught ya t'use words like that?"

I glanced up and gave him a little smirk of my own.

"Maybe I needed to learn for when the riff-raff comes to stay."

He grinned wider.

"I'm the riff-raff huh?"

"Sure are."

We fell into silence, me mopping, and him sat on the chair, legs spread wide and smiling to himself. It was a comfortable silence.

He started shaking his head.

"I sure am."

… **...**

After that I took him upstairs and showed him how to work the shower (not without a dirty joke enquiring about whether I was coming in with him, that I was proud of not blushing about) and then showed him to his room.

After bidding him an awkward farewell and half closing the bedroom door, I trudged back down the stairs to continue the never ending list of chores running a hotel renders you with, because Janet, conveniently, was AWOL.

I couldn't prove that she was up to something that she shouldn't have been so I'd stayed silent, but I was pretty sure that "church group" didn't run on till two o'clock in the morning, and make you come home with a flushed face, twigs in your hair and hickies.

Still, I was biding my time; I'd probably save bringing it up until my step mother got real mad, to divert her attention away from whooping my ass.

I wandered out to collect the boys' long-forgotten breakfast tray from the courtyard, and when I'd lifted the plates away to put them in the sink, I noticed that half hidden under a serviette, wedged between the two of them, enough to pay for the two of them's meals and then some, was a brand new ten dollar bill.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, Mr Sledge, where are you from?" Janet asked politely, fork hovering over untouched beef.

I'd decided to go all out for the meal, make something we hadn't had the opportunity to eat in a while.

"Mobile Alabama, ma'am." He replied with a mouthful.

Imported meat was a rarity for most on the island, especially since they'd brought the rationing in. The arrival of our new guests, however, and the war being officially over, seemed a good enough occasion to spend our money.

Thankfully, living on an island meant there was no shortage of fish while the war was on, so we never went hungry, like some states. Just meant we didn't get the luxuries, majority times.

I didn't know much about Japan and its islands, but I was once down at the docks buying mussels, and I heard the fish monger talking to a sailor about how Japs eat octopus raw, with the tentacles still wriggling. He said you had to be careful you'd chewed it up real well before you swallowed it, or you'd be able to feel its suckers pulling on your insides.

I didn't know if this was true, but I figured our marines would be thankful for some real meat on their plates.

I sent our next door neighbour's son to the market for me. I gave him the ten dollars from before and told him to buy bullet steak and potatoes, the biggest he could find. I knew the little bastard would probably keep the change for himself to buy candy, and lie to me about the price, but I couldn't risk leaving the two men alone in the house at this point so I sent him anyway.

It seemed oddly symbolic. Killing the fattened calf, and all that. It didn't feel like much of a celebration.

"And you, uh, Merriell?" Janet continued.

 _Merriell,_ I thought. _Not "Mr Shelton"._ It had been "Mr Sledge".

Janet had always aspired to be something more. In reality, we were the last people on earth that had any right to be classist. But she kept talking down to Merriell, like he was an afterthought. Like just because he talked differently, and didn't hold a knife and fork properly like Eugene did, he wasn't worthy of her respect. Like she had any business whatsoever judging others, when she was as bad as it gets.

My grandfather once told me that war is an equaliser. He'd fought in the first great war, and he said that it didn't matter where you came from before you got there, whether you were white, black, Hispanic, whatever. Cause once you were in those fields, every man was your brother.

I liked that.

"Louisiana. Lafayette, Miss."

Janet let out a sound of disdain, and I shot her a look of warning. I noticed Eugene did too.

It was difficult to imagine that the two of them, evidently from such different walks of life, could have ever been friends had they not been thrown together, brothers in arms, out in the Pacific. I wondered if Eugene had been repulsed by Merriell, as I'd been, when they first met.

Now, though, they seemed as close as anything. An odd match, perhaps, but it was adorable nevertheless.

"S'haunted there, right?" I asked, half because I was interested, half because I wanted to jump in before Janet got the chance to say something rude.

"So they say." He said, a slight smirk on his face.

"And what are you two planning on doing now the war is finished?" Janet cut in soberly, clearly seeking to shut down the ghost conversation immediately.

"Probably stay in California for a little while, get some down time." Eugene replied. "'Before I have to go home and face my parents."

He chuckled.

"You don't get along with them?"

"Dad's fantastic. He's a doctor. I love him. Mother, on the other hand..."

He trailed off.

"She ain't nice?" Janet asked.

"Insufferable." Eugene said, grinning widely. It made me grin too.

I didn't know the man yet but he was always so lighthearted, putting you at ease with his tone even when his words were bleak. He had a brilliant sense of humour.

"I'm sure she'll just be thanking the Lord she's getting you back." I said gently.

"Yeah, I know that." He said with a shrug and a smile.

He moved off the subject and started telling us his plans for medical school, wanting to follow in his father's footsteps, he said - but I stayed lost in my mind as he went on because I couldn't help thinking, although it was rude, that no he _didn't_ know that, not really. Sure, he'd been to war and of course that was a whole other thing in itself, but he would never know the incredible pain of a family sitting waiting at home for years, literally _years,_ for their man who might never even be coming home.

Then I started to wonder about who was sitting waiting for Merriell Shelton to come home. I felt ashamed to say I found it difficult to believe that there might be someone out there who missed him so desperately, who wanted nothing more than their baby to come home.

"What about you?" I asked him shyly, "What will you do now?"

He shrugged, and smiled a mirthless smile.

"Ain't nobody waitin' on me at home."

We all went very silent then.

… **...**

"Funny," I said to Janet sometime later, after the table had been cleared and there was only the two of us left in the kitchen, "how you got a man who's got nobody to go home to, when I'm sure all he wants is a family. Then you got a man with two whole parents all to love him - and he don't wanna go home."

It was only then, after she gave me a look of pure sorrow and said, "But isn't that just the way of the world?" that I realised.

Janet was in pain too.

… **...**

 _ **Merriell.**_  
 **…...**

I woke up alone in a small, bright room filled with light that streamed in through a big window. It was open, and the white curtains fluttered a little in the sea breeze. I was in bed in my boxers in soft, clean smelling sheets that I must've kicked down to my ankles in my sleep. The walls were painted light blue.

It was a nice room.

Sure, the paint peeled a little and there were a couple cracks in the ceiling, but it made for a far, far better bed than any I'd had in the last three years. Or maybe ever.

That's why I didn't fully believe that I wasn't still dreaming.

It was a restful sleep, despite the nightmares.

I'd started getting pretty confused when I came to, thinking I was still in that son-of-a-bitch foxhole on Okinawa and the Japs were coming. For the weeks we spent on the boat getting here, I'd always wake with a start, hyperventilating and fumbling for my knife.

My stomach growled.

I realised I threw up the breakfast I ate earlier. Dammit. My stomach was yet to get used to eating normal food again.

I dressed and slunk downstairs, pausing in the kitchen doorway to take in the scene. That Rosa girl barefoot at the stove, Sledgehammer sat peeling potatoes. The perfect picture of domesticity. I snorted involuntarily, giving away my position.

They both looked round.

I see you've sobered up." Rosa said to me, shoving a piece of raw carrot into her mouth.

"Uh, yeah." I said looking at her awkwardly, hand on the back of my neck. I wasn't sure whether I was allowed to sit down. Wasn't sure whether she was gonna be mad at me. Then again, her and Sledgehammer seemed to be getting alone just fine and he'd caused as much trouble than I had, if not more.

"There's dinner for you, providing you can keep it down this time."

I gave an awkward laugh.

"Thank you, miss. And then Sledge here and me'll be on our way."

She blinked at me, ever surprised by my need to apologise.

"Don't be silly! You can stay here until your boat gets in. Longer if you want."

I shuffled my feet as I struggled to find the words, unsure what to do with her hospitality.

"Aw well, I wouldn't wanna be causin' no mo' trouble." I mumbled.

"So don't." Rosa said back, smiling, like it was simple.

I looked at Sledge wanting to make sure it was okay. He was smiling, too.

"S'alright, Snaf."

I nodded agreement, even though I was really thinking about why Sledge's first instinct when offered such kindness was to accept it, when mine was to run.

"Dinner sounds good, then." I said weakly, sitting down next to Sledge.

Rosa broke the silence after a while, seemingly in a bid to dispel the tension apparent in the room.

"There's a telephone box down the street if either one of you wants to call your parents, let them know you're okay. We don't have one in the house, sorry."

"Nah." Sledge said, a grin forming on his features as he met my eyes. "Think I'm gonna send them a post card instead."

I grinned at that.

"Dear Doc," I started, with sarcastic enthusiasm. I was familiar with this joke of Sledge's. "The war sure was great!"

"The weather was just lovely!" Sledge chimed in, leaning back in his seat and smiling wide as anything as he chewed on a piece on a piece of carrot. "The beaches too."

"The food left more to be desired." I added, noticing Rosa had now turned around and was watching us banter back and forth with a hand on her hip, and her eyebrows raised.

"I'm in California now." Sledge started again, a fresh bubble of laughter appearing on his lips. "Yesterday, I got piss drunk with my buddy Snaf-"

"Now you gettin' all ya meals cooked for you by a hot piece of ass." I quipped, eyeing Rosa as I said it.

She swallowed and turned back around to her saucepan, uncomfortable.

"What was that about not wanting no more trouble?" She asked lightly and I laughed, but even with her back to me I could see the wine stain of a blush creeping up her neck and it delighted me.

I was back in power again.

… **...**

"So." Janet began in her droning voice. "How long do the two of you think you'll stay with us?"

"Oh, not long I shouldn't think." Eugene began easily, so sure of himself. So sure of his place in the world. "A couple weeks maybe, a month at most."

I scanned the girls' faces for signs of reluctance. I was nervous we wouldn't be welcomed here, especially me. Eugene had redeemed himself after his earlier drunken performance, but me on the other hand - they'd realise that drink or no drink, I was plenty unsavory to be around, and turf me out soon enough. And then where would I go?

"Just long enough to get a break before it's back to reality. Honestly, I'm not too sure I can face my parents again after all this."

I wanted to scoff at him.

"Yes, that must be difficult for you."

Gene didn't reply.

"And you, Merriell?" Rosa enquired, because Janet probably wasn't going to.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your hair soon enough." I said gruffly, trying not to let the fear about what was gonna happen to me show through in my voice.

She frowned at me for a second, and then her eyes softened. She placed a small, warm hand atop of mine on the table and I almost leapt back in shock.

"You really can stay as you as you like." She said gently, and looked into my eyes with such a sincerity that I had to turn away.


End file.
